


Dean is badass.  Sam has always known it.

by FrancesHouseman



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-19 08:32:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancesHouseman/pseuds/FrancesHouseman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The burger guzzling, shameless flirting and the bad boy image, it’s all big brother stuff. It is the shape that Dean has chosen for himself. The shape that fits perfectly around Sam. Sam sees this. He thinks about it clearly and often. Dean’s clothes, music, hairstyle and simplistic loyalty to their father are all designed to provoke specific reactions from Sam. Even Dean’s beloved Impala is really a Temple of Sam, re-consecrated daily when they ride together, Sam sleeping forehead to glass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean is badass.  Sam has always known it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm English, so apologies for the UK spelling and any general stiffness :D

Dean is badass.

Sam has always known it.

 

The burger guzzling, shameless flirting and the bad boy image, it’s all big brother stuff. It is the shape that Dean has chosen for himself. The shape that fits perfectly _around Sam_. Sam sees this. He thinks about it clearly and often. Dean’s clothes, music, hairstyle and simplistic loyalty to their father are all designed to provoke specific reactions from Sam. Even Dean’s beloved Impala is really a Temple of Sam, re-consecrated daily when they ride together, Sam sleeping forehead to glass.

 

The banter between them is everything to Dean. It’s so much a part of him that he has forgotten how to be any other way. They play hard together, pissing each other off so much that it often comes to blows or days of silence and sulking. Dean never backs down. They dare each other. They raise the stakes. Sam thinks of it as extreme sport. The banter is sacred. Dean lives by it and dies by it, never giving an inch, because to back down would be to fail Sam.

 

Twice Sam has failed to rescue Dean. He drove himself crazy trying to get him back from Hell. To be fair, Sam hadn’t known that Dean had disappeared to _Purgatory_ when he had vanished with Cas. The fact that he was with Cas had almost guaranteed their return, to Sam’s mind, and so Sam had wandered off into his own desert; his own Purgatory - Texas without Dean, to wait for his brother. He had really liked Amelia. He had liked her much much more when Dean came back and he could no longer have her. He tormented himself with the idea of her for a while, like a bondage junkie straining against ropes that could be banished with a simple word, ever the rebel. Dean has never failed to rescue Sam.

****

 

Dean doesn’t know that he’s badass. Dean thinks he’s a joke and this makes Sam sad. There’s something so pathetically childlike in Dean’s excitement at having his own room that it sends an irrational streak of rage to Sam’s belly, making him want to punch Dean. He throws a gum wrapper instead and squashes the anger. Dean’s guns, Dean’s stuff, what’s not to like? In a couple of days there will be Dean’s smell too, and then Sam will come here whenever he’s alone. Given time it might be as good as the driver’s seat that holds Dean’s shape, smell and memory.

 

Sometimes Sam sneaks out of their motel early, just to let Baby cocoon him in Dean. Sam has no feelings of guilt. Not anymore. Incest is going to be a tiny drop in the ocean when it comes to Judgement Day for Sam. Hell is afraid of Sam, and for good reason.

 

Sam is empathic. He’s a nice guy who goes out of his way to make strangers smile. The smiling strangers would be surprised then, to learn that Dean is the only person Sam has even a shred of respect for, and that includes God and the Devil. Dean is the only person Sam looks up to and Sam rails against it. He pushes and pushes and tries to get one up on Dean. Dean never lets him. He always puts Sam back down and gives him a reason to stay good. He does it for Sam, while in reality he yearns to give in to every whim that his baby brother has. Dean has been at war with himself in Sam’s name for as long as Sam has known how to rebel, and Sam loves him for it. This is what makes Dean hardcore; badass.

 

****

 

It makes for an interesting dilemma. Sam has wanted Dean in every unbrotherly way for as long as he can remember. Dean was his first wet dream and his teenage obsession. Incestuous ideas were so tangled up in Sam’s sexual development that the concept alone became erotic. When Dean claimed Sam back from Stanford it had made perfect sense. Sam fought and Dean won, shredding himself apart inside in the process.

 

And Sam knew a thing or two about Dean’s idea of erotic. In his teens Dean would work his way through the cheerleaders for the express purpose of trapping Sam and making him hard with the stories. Waiting for Dean to return from his latest conquest had been exquisite torment for young Sam. Dean returned at 10pm, 11pm, and then 2am or 3am when they were older. Sam used to lie awake imagining what lay in store for him when Dean returned. Sometimes Dean would stay out all night and then Sam would lie awake and perfectly still, burning with anticipation, dozing off and waking at every tiny sound that could be his brother.

 

Dean was the master of dirty talk. He had perfected the art of getting Sam off with words by the age of nineteen. He had Sam’s number; knew every button to press. Sam liked surprises, intimate details and secrets about the girls Dean fucked. Things they were embarrassed about but turned on by. Things they allowed Dean to know because he worked hard for it, shamelessly turning even the nicest girls into wanton sluts. There were girls who liked it rough and Dean gave it to them just right. There were girls who wanted to be treated like princesses and Dean would treat them so tenderly and with such reverence that they cried afterwards in his arms. There were girls who wanted Dean to pay special attention to certain parts of their bodies and Dean would oblige. He pulled and sucked at long nipples; groped, wobbled and slapped pendulous breasts and oversized buttocks as he fucked them from behind; rubbed tummies that were a little too round. He spread his girls out and ate their tender pussies until they were delirious little porn stars, committing every detail to memory for Sammy.

 

“You have to talk to them Sammy,” he’d say. “You have to tell them what you’re doing because that’s half the fun for girls. You have to get into their heads,” and he’d tap Sam’s temple with a wicked grin. “Telling them they’re going to come hard in a matter of minutes can make it so,” Dean had said, ruffling his hair, and they both knew that Sam was going to come hard, just as soon as Dean disappeared into the shower as he always did. What Dean didn’t know was that Sam came pressed up against the wall or door separating him from Dean. He didn’t know that Sam had his number too; Sam knew that Dean came harder fisting himself in the shower after their talking sessions than he ever did with any girl. Dean didn’t know that Sam watched through a keyhole whenever possible, listening intently for changes in the falling water and Dean’s breathing, tiny moans if the acoustics were right.

 

The women and shared details had become habit for Dean, like coffee in the morning. Sam feigned irritation these days because it was expected for their game, but he loved that Dean knew he was being completely transparent and still did it anyway. It was as close to sex as they ever came, with some nameless slut between them. More recently Dean had upped the ante, picking women who had some similarity to Sam and exploiting it. “She was nearly as tall as you, Gigantor. I had to kiss _upwards_. Man I hate that,” (the shit eating grin said otherwise). “She wanted me to stroke her hair and kiss her forehead Sammy, I swear she got off on it, she had a real daddy thing going on,” (a sideways smirk). “Seriously Sam, I would never’ve believed she was a librarian if I hadn’t picked her up at work. Such a hungry cockslut. Like my spunk was the elixir of life or something. Seriously. How’s the research going?”

 

Dean had wanted Sam ever since Sam had wanted Dean, which made perfect sense because Dean adapted to Sam helplessly. Sam knew that he had fought it from the start, protecting Sam from himself with valiant morals until Sam was safely at Stanford. There had been varying degrees of angst, sexual desperation and self loathing for Dean since, depending on his strength of mind. Dean imagined that Sam didn’t know the extent of his deviations, but Sam knew. It was blindingly obvious to Sam. He knew about the clothes Dean stole from his rucksack to smother himself as he came silently in the bathroom while Sam watched TV. He had heard Dean chanting his name twice in the past year: once as he fucked his fist in the shower (Sam had silently entered the room and silently retreated, smiling, for Dean’s sake), and once in a drunken half sleep as Dean sobbed his heart out as quietly as possible and Sam listened in the dark. Sam would have known anyway because he had watched the whole drama playing out in Dean’s eyes, their whole lives, in every interaction, every day.

 

****

 

Dean’s appetite for men was another thing Dean thought Sam didn’t know. It was an attempt to fight his libido, which was typical stubborn Dean. Sam knew of a dozen or so of this type of conquest and Dean had a type: as close to Sam as possible. They were quick, shameful liaisons, loaded with guilt. The women were for Sam but the men were for Dean and he only allowed himself (and them) the bare minimum satisfaction. There was no doubt in Sam’s mind that he was the star of Dean’s heart. He knew it like he knew the sun would rise because it was mutual and inevitable. He was willing to bet that Dean couldn’t even get off without thinking of Sam anymore.

 

Dean is going to touch him. Sam already owns him, body and soul. Dean is going to crack and touch him one day, or kill himself trying not to, and Dean won’t let that happen because Sam needs him. Dean is going to break down all his self imposed boundaries and Sam is going to watch. He isn’t going to make it easy for Dean. He is going to play their game as well as he always has and Dean is still going to crack. It’s close, he can feel it.

 

But Sam will be damned if Dean thinks he’s having his own room. Dean has slept there for a week and Sam is fuming. It has become an arrangement and it is unacceptable. He can sleep without his brother in the next bed but he doesn’t want to. He wants to breathe the same air, like it’s supposed to be. Sam glares at the tiny photo of Dean and his mother from Dean’s bed, sprawled on his stupid memory foam, and he plots. Dean is out, probably buying more happiness in pie. Discovering the Batcave has made Dean ridiculously happy because Sam can be a scholar again. Dean is so over the moon about it all that he has even taken something for himself: this room. He probably thinks the distance will appease the love sickness. Perhaps he feels virtuous, keeping his distance. Sam is not going to allow it. He considers feigning nightmares and manipulating Dean into his own room but that could only be a short term fix. Dean could retreat to this room whenever they argued (often), or if he felt Sam was better. Sam was going to have to invade this room, so that Dean has nowhere to hide. Dean is NOT hiding from Sam. No way. How could he even think he could? Sam fumes at his mother’s smile.

 

****

 

He starts small. Dean waves the shirt at him and says, “Really Sam? Leaving your hippy clothes on MY floor?”

 

Sam shrugs and takes the shirt. “There’s a full sized mirror in there,” he says, and when Dean turns he narrows his eyes and smirks. It’s the same shirt Dean stole for nefarious Sam-sniffing purposes yesterday and carefully returned.

 

****

 

Sam tackles Dean into the photo booth on their next pie hunt and they get photos of stupid faces, each trying to out-stupid the other. To Sam’s delight Dean falls further into his trap than he could have hoped by pulling a moony. Sam drops his pants quick as a flash for the final shot, victory swelling in his chest.

 

Dean doesn’t mention the column of photos that join the one of him and mum propped up against the lamp. He can’t move it for fear of upsetting Sam and Sam just knows that Dean burns in his own personal hell that night, with Sam’s ass on his desk.

 

****

 

His next move is to sprawl sideways on Dean’s bed with his laptop while Dean’s in the shower, so that Dean pulls up abruptly in the doorway, in nothing but a towel. Sam turns on his full-beam grin, dimples included, and says “You’re gonna love this case,” turning the screen towards Dean.

 

Dean walks casually around the bed saying “Oh yeah?” and the only sign of discomfort is the slight bob of his Adam’s apple. Nothing gets past Sam. He allows Dean to dress without turning and he knows that Dean is using the extra screen of the wardrobe door between them. He waits until Dean sits on the bed, not too close, not too far away. It seems ever so casual but Sam knows it’s a carefully calculated safe distance. Unfortunately for Dean Sam is much better at _calculated_ , and he snags two bottles of beer from under the bed, one each. It’s going to be difficult to move now that they’re comfortable and they have beer.

 

Dean looks at the photos of them on the desk. Then he looks at Sam, expression completely neutral. Sam knows that he’s onto him, but that’s fine. It’s all part of their dance. He can hear Dean thinking “ _little shit_ ” at him. He doesn’t smirk.

 

“So there’s this guy,” Sam turns the laptop again and the photo is professional, an agency modelling photo of a male catalogue model in a stupid pose, checking his watch. “People around him keep losing legs, one each. His fiancée, his boss, (Sam smirks) _close_ male friends. A whole series of freak accidents.

 

“Vengeful spirit?” Dean really doesn’t want to ask why Sam thinks he’s going to love this case because he thinks he already knows. Dean knows that he’s going to be forced to ask Sam because not asking would be admitting to this. Sam has trapped him again.

 

“I can’t find a good reason for it being their legs, but yeah, looks like it.” Sam looks him right in the eye. Bastard.

 

“I like ganking them Sammy but what’s to love about this one?” Natural as breathing. Maybe he’s wrong, except that Sam blinds him with Sam-beam again and he knows he’s not.

 

“Thought he looked a bit like your friend from Utah.” Sam rolls himself, the laptop and his beer off the bed and stands just inside Dean’s danger-space, looming at six-foot-enormous. “I’ve got a few books to find before we go,” he says, sounding smug despite his best efforts. “Give me an hour, yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Sam hadn’t said, _I’ll let you stew while you think that over,_ but he may as well have. Dean took a long pull on his beer.

 

With a bit of luck Dean wouldn’t be able to think about his precious memory foam mattress again without imagining Sam lying there and telling him, _I know you fuck men who look like me Dean, and I like it_. Three victories to Sam, but the battle of Dean’s room was yet to be won. And Sam was going to have to watch his back now because Dean knew and Dean would retaliate. He shivered in anticipation.

 

****

 

It was a vengeful spirit, the thwarted catwalk model type. His career had ended in a car wreck and amputation and his life had ended shortly after by suicide. They saved Bradley’s mum from a nasty accident involving a tractor. There were mandatory jokes from Dean throughout about models being all skin and bones etc, and then they burned the Channel watch with tiny droplets of blood on the leather and the evil model bones, and Sam watched Dean warm his hands nodding slightly in content.

 

Dean made a point of being gruff with Bradley and not meeting his eye. Sam made no comment, which was comment in itself and they both knew it.

 

No retaliation was forthcoming and Sam guessed that Dean might not be able to risk it at this stage, which was a pity. Sam’s next move was to get into that room himself, to stay. He had been wondering if it was possible to be metaphysically bound by Hoodoo to within a ten foot radius of Dean, but all the damn witch doctors seemed to be keeping their noses clean for a change.

 

It was looking increasingly like he was going to have to help things along a little, just a little, but it still pissed him off. He woke up alone, another week of Dean’s room under the bridge, and decided that he’d had enough. Tonight he would just sleep in Dean’s room, whether Dean liked it or not. He would move a mattress onto the floor and tell Dean to deal with it.

 

***

 

Dean was out of the Batcave entirely, which was unusual without telling Sam where he was going. He didn’t pick up his mobile and Sam started chewing his lip around midday when Dean still hadn’t returned. When Sam finally managed to reach him Dean sounded tired. “I’m sorry Sammy,” he said, “I couldn’t sleep so I went to get coffee, and it’s such a nice day so I kind of wandered around and found this park and they have hotdogs…”

 

“Okay…” Sam said carefully, neutrally. He thought he detected a note of surrender in Dean’s voice. _Pleasepleaseplease._ He hardly dared breathe.

 

“Anyway, m’on my way back now.”

 

There’s a long pause and Sam tries to will him to say it. He imagines channeling any remaining demon power through the mobile network. C _ome on Dean._ He grips the phone and waits.

 

Dean’s voice has a slight rasp when he adds, “So don’t go anywhere Frances, I think we’re going to have one of those girly talks you like so much.”

 

And when Dean hangs up Sam kisses the phone, does a small dance, pumps the air in joy and then spins around, arms out, laughing at the ceiling. He scrubs his body clean for Dean, inside and out, and changes into the shirt he left on Dean’s floor last week. A few deep breaths and he sits at the long desk, books open around him, and not a moment too soon because there’s the sound of gravel beneath Dean’s wheels.

 

****

 

Dean meets Sam’s eyes when he comes in and strides straight towards him. He’s not backing down and Sam could almost kiss him for it, except that Dean is going to have to kiss him first. Dean dumps two bags of shopping on Sam’s books, and hands Sam a tuna salad, which Sam puts back on the table without looking away. Dean notices the shirt and drops his head to his chest, tilting it sideways with a looks that says _Dude, seriously?_ When he goes to his room Sam follows and lounges in the doorway, no escape. Dean loses his jacket, then his shoes and hesitates when he has run out of things to do. He sits on the bed unhappily and rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Sammy,” he says, all gruff and low, and Sam hears him with every fibre of his body. He sits carefully on the other side of the bed.

 

Dean looks up again and nods slowly. “I think you already know,” he says quietly, “Dontcha Sammy? I think you’ve known for ages.”

 

 _You KNOW that I already know_ , Sam thinks at him. But all he does is tilt his head in question.

 

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Okay.” He straightens up a bit and clears his throat but he looks right back at Sam when he says, “I want you so badly. In a way that no brother should, and it’s driving me fucking _insane._ ”

 

Sam smiles, he can’t help it, and Dean’s pupils visibly dilate.

 

“Fuck,” he mutters. “How long have you known?”

 

Sam’s smile widens and his eyelids droop dangerously. He climbs over to Dean’s side of the bed, right over Dean, straddling him. Dean makes a strangled noise and Sam bullies him up onto the bed properly so that he’s leaning against the headboard, legs stretched out, Sam straddling his thighs. He pushes his chest forwards and pulls Deans head into himself, hard, bunching the shirt and squashing Dean’s face into the material. “Always borrowing, never asking Dean,” he says, low, and Dean groans, warm against Sam’s body.

 

Sam pulls back and lets go. “Tell me,” he says, and Dean takes a moment to focus. Sam considers the feedback loop of pleasure that already exists between them. He thinks that this might be a bad idea after all because they are likely to explode or spontaneously combust. He really really wants to make Dean combust.

 

“I can’t sleep,” says Dean. “I can’t think about anything else. I can’t _think_.” He frowns a little at Sam. “Why didn’t you tell me Sammy, if you knew? Sammy? How long have you known?”

 

Sam touches his fingers to Dean’s temple tenderly. This is his favourite moment of all time, right here. “I’ve always known,” he says, “And I’ve always wanted you.”

 

Deans lips fall apart and he does a mini orgasm face, spasming forward a little towards Sam and arching up to the ceiling as if it’s all too much. When he looks back at Sam his eyes are so intense that Sam feels like prey. “Should have told me,” Dean grinds out between his teeth.

 

“You’ve always known too Dean,” and it’s true. He sees the truth settle in Dean’s face before he glances away, not that Sam needed confirmation. “I’m just more honest.” Sam smirks at Dean’s glare. They both know it’s not fair to put it so bluntly, that it’s much more complicated for Dean.

 

Dean reaches up and it might as well be in slow motion. He slots his fingers through Sam’s hair and pulls Sam’s head down towards his own. And Sam still resists a little, thinking _finally, finally._ The kiss is gentle, chaste, and then suddenly not because Dean pushes into Sam’s mouth, opening him up and kissing him thoroughly, and now look who’s the hungry cockslut because Sam wants to taste Dean everywhere, EVERYWHERE, he could fucking eat him alive. Dean clearly has other ideas though because he pulls Sam off muttering “No no no,” and flips them over so that they’re lying flush, Dean on top, hovering over Sam and looking positively demonic.

 

“You’re mine, little brother,” he growls against Sam’s lips and proceeds to kiss him more thoroughly than Sam has ever been kissed in his life. Sam is dizzy when they part. He is flushed and desperately hard against Dean. He squirms, trying to line up their cocks through the layers of denim, and moans and tries for Dean’s mouth again because his is feeling lonely. Dean smiles lazily and nips at his jaw. He licks at Sam’s neck and bites and sucks shockingly hard at the join of shoulder and throat.

 

Sam makes a noise like “Yaurgh!” before his body bucks up screaming pure pleasure. “Fucking vampire,” he whimpers and Dean laughs, shaking them both, still sucking and then drawing back to admire his mark.

 

“Yeeaaah,” says Dean, and it’s all drawn out and this slow smile spreads across his face. It’s better than every fantasy. Dean gets him out of his shirt and licks, sucks, bites his way down and up Sam’s arms, using his mouth and hands, leaving mini hickies in his wake. He does the same on Sam’s chest, biting gently all around his nipples but never touching them. He bats Sam’s arms away when Sam tries to touch, or bites harder in warning, so Sam lies still and lets Dean polka dot his skin with his mouth. The muscles in Sam’s abdomen jump and shiver when Dean gets there, and when Dean licks around and _inside_ Sam’s naval Sam thinks he might have embarked on a suicide mission. It’s too much sensation. His cock is throbbing. Dean is touching him and he’s not going to make it.

 

When Dean peels off his jeans and his shorts in one go Sam pants a little. Maybe this is it? But Dean works his way down his legs, laughing softly when Sam cries “ _Noooooo…_ _please Dean_ ”. He massages, kisses, rolls and sucks the flesh of Sam’s legs, all the way down to his toes, which he nips and tickles while Sam wriggles and kicks. Then he makes Sam flip over and he works himself back up, getting slower and slower as he approaches Sam’s buttocks. He slaps them gently and sits astride Sam, just below his ass. Sam blushes at the thought of the picture he must make, no longer able to make the small thrusts into Dean’s bed that he had been making, but trying anyway, pressed by Dean’s weight into the growing wet spot and held still. Dean reaches down and squeezes his shoulders and it’s a wonderful flood of pleasure, and then his back gets the kiss, nip, suck treatment, Sam’s muscles twitching in anticipation. And then Dean starts stroking. He strokes Sam all over, everywhere he can reach without taking the pressure off Sam’s hips. He reaches behind and strokes his legs. He strokes his arms in long lines, down and up, his back, his neck. His sides tickle a bit and Dean _shhhsh_ s him. Sam can hear the smirk. And then his buttocks, which jump and dance maddeningly under the too-light touch. Dean switches to squeezing and shifts down to kiss and lick and Sam thinks _OhGODOhGodOhGod_ and Dean is pulling his hips up so that his ass is in the air.

 

Sam has never been so turned on. His cock strains up towards his belly, cooling precome coating the head. He wants Dean to touch it so badly. He shifts his hips to try and get the message across and Dean hums low in appreciation and says, “Sexy Sammy, work that booty for me,” and this is the end of Sam Winchester. It has to be.

 

When Dean starts licking Sam starts moaning. There’s nothing he can do about it. It is the most intense, intimate beautiful thing Sam has ever experienced and his brain has short circuited. There are only two words left: _Dean God Dean God DEAN_ and they spill out of him like something broke and the damn burst. Dean fucks his hole with his tongue and Sam writhes, so Dean holds his hips still until Sam finds that he can thrust back in a barely controlled rhythm, and then one of Dean’s hands reaches between his legs and strokes his cock.

 

And suddenly Sam’s vocabulary increases by 50% because he yells “Fuck! fuck! FUCK!” once for each stroke of Dean’s hand, and then, “ _Deeeeaaaan_ ,” and Sam’s soul is exiting his body again, but this time through his cock, and Sam convulses while Dean groans into his ass.

 

He falls sideways afterwards, trapping Dean’s hand between his legs. Dean tries to pull away but Sam holds on with his thighs and Dean has to settle for resting his head on Sam’s hip for a while, Sam’s twitching cock softening gently in his calloused grip. The orgasm had been so intense that Sam feels all hollowed out inside. He feels like weeping. He feels the emotion spreading out from his chest, down his arms and his hands throb. He imagines a pulsing tree of sorrow spreading though his body and briefly considers giving in to the urge to cry. “I feel like one of your princess girls,” he tells Dean, and Dean kisses him softly on the hip.

 

“You wanna cry for me baby?” Dean says, just as softly, and the feeling returns immediately, twice as strong, and this time Sam feels it in his hands _and_ his feet and it’s a much closer thing to real tears. He releases Dean’s hand and rolls onto his back, splayed out, which feels better.

 

Dean is still fully dressed but far from orderly. Sam pulls him down for a kiss and tastes himself. Dean kisses him reverently. He pulls back far enough to gaze into Sam’s eyes, touches Sam’s hair and says, “So fucking beautiful Sammy,” before lying flush to Sam’s side, head on Sam’s chest. They lie still for a while Dean’s hand on Sam’s stomach, Sam’s hand on the back of Dean’s neck. Eventually the hard line of Dean’s cock subsides and they drift off together.

 

****

 

Sam wakes after forty minutes or so and pushes his face into Dean’s short hair, breathing deeply. He smells hair gel and Dean’s hair in equal parts and presses kisses onto Dean’s head. He lets his fingertips brush the edge of Dean’s ear and Sam’s cock starts to fill out again. He lies still for a while, reliving Dean _tongue fucking him_ , and tightening the muscles that make his cock jump and twitch, now at full mast. He lies there a little longer, holding Dean. He’s holding Dean. He can’t quite believe it. Dean is heavy and warm, and incredibly alive. Dean is a living miracle. He is the most precious thing on the planet and Sam’s heart swells. Dean is drooling slightly on his chest.

 

Sam clenches his buttocks and feels the lingering moistness of Dean’s spit. He thinks about Dean’s hand, rough skin on his cock. He thinks about Dean touching his hair; Dean’s voice saying, _Wanna cry for me baby?_ …and Sam decides that Dean has slept for long enough. He figures that they can pick this thing up right where they left off, so he shifts his muscles. Dean doesn’t wake up so Sam shifts harder, pushing Dean all the way off him and onto his back. Dean doesn’t wake up. Sam proceeds with caution. He learned his lesson about waking Dean suddenly from a deep sleep when he was sixteen and they’d had a near-miss incident with a hunting knife, so Sam opens the buttons on Dean’s shirt with great care. He exposes Dean’s torso: muscular and lightly haired with delicious freckles and rosy pink nipples that somehow look soft and vulnerable in sleep. Dean is definitely sleeping because he would never let his mouth loll like that while he was awake. Sam uses the opportunity to paw at Dean’s nipples like an excited kitten. He presses his lips over where Dean’s heart is, then his ear, listening in awe to the drum that beats out both of their lifetimes. He writes _Dean’s name for him_ across Dean’s heart with his fingertip and gently, stealthily, unbuckles his belt.

 

Dean has no underwear on. Sam rolls his eyes and thinks _Cowboy_ fondly, as he eases the jeans down over Dean’s hips, enough to expose his soft cock and balls.

 

Sam already knows how Dean smells, as a result of living in close proximity and doing their laundry. And smelling Dean’s underwear. Which is what Dean would have been doing with Sam’s underwear all along, if his older brother guilt thing hadn’t got in the way and only allowed him to get as far as shirts.

 

Sam pushes his nose into the surrounding hair and smells pure Dean. His mouth waters. He has dreamed of this so often. Sam breathes hot breaths over Dean’s cock, as though he’s trying to make steam on cold glass, until Dean’s cock starts to fill out. He pushes his tongue flat against the underside of Dean’s foreskin and holds it there whilst his breath brings Dean to almost complete hardness and the head of his cock peaks out and spills forwards onto Sam’s waiting tongue. Sam closes his mouth around Dean’s cock with a happy sigh. Dean tastes a lot like Sam. He doesn’t want to wake Dean anymore, not just yet, so he takes care to just hold him in his mouth, suckling a little to keep Dean hard. He strokes Dean’s balls softly and the skin of his sack contracts around Sam’s touch.

 

Slowly and carefully Sam experiments, bobbing his head a little, twisting side to side and tracing the edge of the glans with his tongue. He rubs the flat of his tongue firmly under the head and Dean seems to like that because his cock swells and a low sustained rumble comes from his throat, an unconscious moan that travels straight to Sam’s own cock, which pulses in sympathy.

 

Sam pushes forward wondering how much he can take, having never sucked cock before. He gets all the way to the base but then gags and pulls back quickly. He glances up to check that he hasn’t woken Dean and jumps when he finds Dean watching him, a look of bliss on his face. He smiles around Dean’s cock, which is difficult, and Dean says, “Jesus fuck Sammy gonna be the death of me,” in a voice thick with sleep. Sam tries the tongue rubbing thing with Dean awake and Dean moans again, hands coming up and fingers threading gently into Sam’s hair.

 

It’s lovely, Dean holding his head, mouth filled with Dean’s cock, and Sam thinks he’s home. He swallows, which Dean seems to like, so he does it again and is rewarded with a small surge of precome. Sam thinks, _Oh yeah, I’m having more of that_ , and he sets about milking Dean enthusiastically with his mouth. Dean’s head falls back heavily, his hands fall away from Sam and he says “Oh.” Sam uses lips and tongue as best he can to squeeze precome onto his tongue drop by drop. He bobs and twists a little, rubs with his tongue, and he’s getting really into it, regular splashes rewarding his efforts. But then Dean’s hands return and it feels like he’s trying to stop Sam, which is _not happening_. Sam growls around Dean’s cock and Dean stops trying to push him off, clamping him in place instead and making tiny but firm thrusts. Sam can still move his tongue though, so he pushes it into the slit briefly and then rubs firmly on the underside again.

 

Apparently this is too much for Dean. He thrusts wildly a few times and makes the sexiest animal noise Sam has ever heard as he pumps Sam’s mouth full of come, moaning “ _Sammy_ ” as his orgasm dies away. Sam swallows again and again. He pulls his mouth away from Dean’s cock and then goes back to retrieve any come he might have missed. There’s a small pool at the slit and Sam licks and sucks him clean while Dean twitches, cock uncomfortably oversensitive, but happy to let Sam have his way.

 

Sam insists on getting Dean’s clothes off, all of them. He pulls the covers over them and they tangle together, Sam’s head on Dean’s shoulder. Sam feels smug and safe and like this is his birthright. There is nothing left that Dean won’t give him and vice versa. “Really gonna be my bitch now Sammy,” murmers Dean.

 

“Hell yeah,” Sam breathes, and Dean tightens his arms around him.

 

****

 

When they wake again they wake together, neither willing to move much. The Batcave is the same, day or night, but Dean’s clock says 9.20pm and Sam’s hungry. “Why do you call me Frances?” he asks Dean.

“Frances Houseman,” Dean says into his hair, “Baby.”

 

“Dude, that is such a chick flick.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

They eat a lot, most of what Dean brought home earlier. Sam watches Dean closely for telltale signs of guilt and self disgust but Dean seems thoroughly relaxed and content, a small smile playing about his lips.

 

Dean puts on some rock, plays air guitar and makes Sam laugh. They find a sofa and lounge together, drinking beer from the bottle, each receiving the other’s touch in comfortable silence, thinking their own thoughts together.

 

Sam twists so that he can look at Dean. “No more fucking around,” he says.

 

Dean just rolls his eyes and says, “Durr,” so Sam bites at his bottom lip and they kiss for ages, shifting around on the couch and making out like teenagers. They grope each other under clothes and dry hump, feeling greedy, trying to touch everywhere at once. Dean lifts Sam’s shirt and bites gently at a nipple, looking up at Sam through his lashes. Sam feels his arousal hitching to the next level and he pushes his chest towards Dean silently asking for more. Dean takes the other nipple in his teeth before laving and sucking gently. Sam makes a pleased noise in his throat. “Going to fuck you now Sammy,” Dean tells him, “On my memory foam mattress, with my dick this time.” And Sam can only nod and follow him back to the bedroom.

 

They unbutton each other’s shirts but then shuck their own jeans quickly by silent agreement. “Like you were before,” says Dean, nodding at the bed. Sam crawls on and presents himself to Dean again, cheek flush with the sheets, ass high in the air. Dean squeezes and kneads his ass cheeks with both hands and Sam gets hot all over. He’s discovering that he really likes exposing himself to Dean. “Ever done this…”

 

“No,” Sam says, and then, “Never,” just to clarify. _But it has been number one on the list of things I really want to happen since I was fifteen_ , he adds silently. Then he adds it aloud because he thinks Dean should know.

 

“Fuck, yeah. Me too,” says Dean, and he slides his forefinger, slick with lube, into Sam’s ass. Sam makes a noise much more like a bird than a man and clamps his lips together with his teeth to stop it happening again. Dean snickers. He fucks the finger into Sam gently until he feels him opening up and then he moves it in circles pushing against all Sam’s walls. He slides a second finger in and it’s really tight for a moment. No noises escape Sam this time, just a rush of breath from his nose.

 

Dean is really slow and really thorough. He keeps taking his fingers away and pushing them back. He uses loads of lube and Sam feels it trickle down over his balls. Dean crooks his fingers and finds Sam’s sweet spot, and Sam’s resolve to be silent cracks. He cries, “ _Dean,_ ” and then “ _Please,_ ” and doesn’t care what he sounds like. Dean starts a routine of fucking, scissoring and rubbing that spot and Sam moans and writhes his hips, aware of how debauched it must look, the fact only serving to heighten his arousal even further. He wants to be a slut for Dean, it feels so good, and Dean is going to take care of his body’s every need, going to give him everything. He wants more and says so.

 

Dean adds a third finger and this time the stretch feels really good. Dean’s other hand snakes around his hips and pulls gently at Sam’s straining cock before reaching beneath and pulling his balls down gently from where they had climbed high up into Sam’s body.

 

“Want me to use a condom Sammy?” Dean asks and Sam says no before he’s really thought about it. It’s possible that Dean has picked up some nasty disease, likely even, given his history, but if Dean’s dying of something then Sam would like to too please. “Turn over then,” Dean says, drawing out his fingers. Sam whines but obeys.

 

They get Sam’s hips up onto some pillows and Dean positions himself, cock heavy and full of blood, eyes dark and full of promises. “Okay?” he asks and Sam nods, so Dean pushes home in one slow thrust. He stays there, head buried in Sam’s shoulder, cock buried in Sam’s body. He moans, “Oh Sammy,” in such a broken voice that Sam wraps his arms and legs around Dean to hold him together. After a moment Sam squeezes his muscles experimentally and Dean gets the message and moves.

 

Dean fucks him tenderly, looking into Sam’s eyes and running his thumbs over Sam’s cheeks, eyebrows, lips. Sam has never felt so overwhelmed, so loved. He is completely enveloped in Dean, as close together as they can be. Sam’s cock is trapped between grinding slowly against Dean’s belly and he’s totally full and strung-out on the feeling of Dean’s cock inside him. He finds that if he raises his legs a little and tilts his hips just so then Dean’s cock angles up just right inside. He realises that he won’t last long if he does it too often but the feeling is so delicious that he can’t really help himself. He squirms.

 

Sam wants this to last forever but he’s getting really close. He can feel his face getting hotter and his cock swelling and drooling against Dean’s belly. “We’re doing this all the time,” he pants.

 

“All the time,” Dean agrees.

 

“So fucking good Dean, I’ve waited so fucking long for this,” Sam grabs at Dean’s buttocks trying to draw him deeper, harder, “ _More_ ,” he demands, “More, Dean, _More,_ ” and Dean picks up the pace.

 

Sam has found his voice and everything tumbles out. “Made me wait Dean, God, so long, fuck, there’s so many things we’re gonna do, gonna do… gonna want… _Dean, please,_ ” and Dean doesn’t need telling again because he’s fucking  into Sam now like it’s the only chance he’ll ever have, desperation written all over his face. “Mine forever Dean, hear me?” pants Sam right into his ear “ _Fuck_. Never letting go of you now,” and Sam clings to him, arms and legs, and Dean slams them together into the bed, muscles and tendons straining. “I can’t, _I can’t…”_ Sam sobs and then “ _Deeeean_ ” as he comes and comes and Dean’s coming too, making that same beautiful animal noise from earlier, and Sam knows he’s dying and he loves it.

 

Dean strokes his hair and brings him down gently, murmuring “Shhhh baby boy,” and he’s going to have to stop calling Sam Baby because that’s what he calls his _car_ and it gives Sam that hollow weepy feeling inside again that throbs in his chest and spreads out along his limbs. He clings to Dean because he wants to, not caring that he’s going to be taunted. But Dean just snorts and says, “Koala,” and they kiss long and slow.

 

Sam thinks _I’m so happy_ , and when they break apart he says, “Dean, I’m so happy.”

 

“Yeah, me too Sammy, me too.”

 

****

 

Later, Dean sleeps in Sam’s arms and Sam lies awake in the dark, surrounded by foam that’s busy remembering him. He feels powerful and high, totally drugged up on love, as though his heart might explode from it. He touches his fingertips to the place at the base of his throat where Dean has marked him with the _most enormous_ purple bruise and smiles. He thinks of their matching tattoos and the matching angel sigils engraved into their ribs. He thinks of the invisible tattoo saying Sammy that he drew onto Dean’s chest earlier, just as permanent as the others. He thinks of the way Dean had fitted all around and inside him like a custom made holster. He thinks of the other ways Dean fits around Sam and then the tears come, finally. It’s stupid to cry but it’s so overwhelming and he’s so fucking happy.

 

Dean feels the wetness on his forehead, feels Sam shudder and realises that he’s crying. He climbs on top of Sam again, stroking his hair and kissing away the tears. Then he pushes back into Sam’s body, which is still wet and open to him, saying, “Shhh baby,” and Sam thinks _Yes, God, yes, again, again and again and again forever…_ and Dean rocks into him and they fit together perfectly.

 

 


End file.
